Just who in the hell is Sarah Williams?
by Sylphien
Summary: A oneshot dedicated to nothingnothingtralala's 'Goblin Spies and Unexpected Visitors', set after chapter 27. Jareth decides to challenge James Blunt for Sarah's favour after hearing him 'serenading' her through her ipod.


Okay, this is a oneshot spin-off dedicated to nothingnothingtralala's wonderful story 'Goblin Spies and Unexpected Visitors', if you haven't read it... well, what the hell are you doing here? Also - what is wrong with you? Hurry up and go read it!

This is based after chapter 27 of the story, where Jareth discusses challenging James Blunt for Sarah's favour after hearing his song playing on her ipod.

I did some wiki reading on James Blunt in preparation for this, here are some oddities for you all

*His real name is James Blount

*He has had his pilots licence since he was 16 years old

*He is a former army captain

*He helped his sister meet her partner by placing her on ebay under 'damsel in distress'

I did not make any of that up, James is a pretty cool guy.

On that note, he doesn't belong to me, nor do the characters of the Labyrinth, nor does 'sideways through the particles' - that's an ode to Vivian Vande Velde's short story 'Rumplestiltskin.'

I have never written comedy before, it's possible I haven't managed it this time either - read at your own peril ;p

* * *

James looked around his Ibiza residence and sighed.

He needed to fly out tomorrow to meet with his producer; it seemed like he'd only just come home and now he needed to leave again already. Usually it might not bother him so much, but the weather had been so lovely, it was a pity to forsake it for the American winter awaiting him. He dreaded the thought of being cooped up on yet another plane for hours of travel; even first class became a burden when you spent too much time there.

What he needed was a drink.

Trudging moodily out to the deck, he noticed that the cleaners had failed to collect the leaves in the patio pool area, _again_. It wasn't a big deal, not really, but since he was already in a bad mood he decided to let it bother him. Kicking the greenery aside, he slipped behind the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey, not the best he had, but he'd put that somewhere safe and forgotten where it was. Three glasses later, and a good deal cheerier for it, he realised that he was no longer alone.

"Adela, didn't I tell you that I wanted these leaves gone too?" he muttered, trying to sound important, hoping it _was_ the one cleaning woman whose name he'd actually managed to remember. He usually tried to mumble the name under his breath, hoping that it might make it interchangeable with any names he'd forgotten, like fudging your way through song lyrics…. something he obviously knew nothing about. He noted that today the name held a definite slur; he was certainly a little bit tipsy. Looking up, he opened his mouth to speak, and continued to let it hang open as he stared at the sight before him. _Okay, maybe I'm a little bit more than tipsy_, he realised.

Before him stood a man… well he thought it was a man. Glancing down at the crotch of his tight, figure hugging pants, he nodded to himself, d_efinitely a man. _His blonde hair was spiked in some kind of dated, glam rock style; his dark pants a contrast to his white, frilly looking shirt, which was open at the front. Even in the warm weather he was wearing a cloak, which seemed to be moulting feathers, and there were small specks of glitter flecking the floor around him as if he were dropping those too. He was fearfully handsome, but he looked like he'd stepped straight out of an eighties music video. James closed his mouth for want of a better course of action, minutes later finding he still didn't seem to have any real grasp on the situation.

"What the devil?" he remarked, although it took him a moment to realise he had said it aloud.

"No, not him, but you're not the first to make that mistake," drawled the odd man.

"How did you get in here, who the hell are you? Get out at once!" he yelled, louder than he had intended. _Definitely a little bit drunk._

"Sideways through the particles, obviously, and you may address me as_ Your Majesty or Your Royal Highness, _but no, I'm not going anywhere."

James blinked, the reply confused him, and he didn't think that was just the whiskey.

"Sideways through the _what_?" he asked, momentarily forgetting that the strange man was trespassing on his property.

"Particles," his visitor supplied, "the magic works best if you move sideways through them, you don't have to, of course, but you always run the risk of leaving bits of yourself behind if you're not careful."

James cleared his throat noisily and put his whisky glass down, that was enough of that. "Are you on some sort of drugs or something?" he asked. The glam rocker regarded him coldly.

"I'm more the type to do the drugging… well… I mean there was that one time by accident... but that was mostly goblin idiocy."

_Goblins… right_, he was definitely loaded. "Look here… (_Your majesty… no, there is no way I'm calling him that_,) you, you're on private property. I don't know how the hell you got in here, but you need to leave."

The self-proclaimed monarch pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just told you _how_, it's _why_ I'm here that should concern you."

"Seriously, if you don't get out I'm calling the police." James heard his voice wobble a little bit, he wasn't sure if it was from fear or from the alcohol buzz. It was almost _definitely _fear that made him back up as the man approached him, managing to be both flamboyant and menacing in his stride. James wondered what the best way to escape would be, there was running, but he'd never been much good at that. He could try to reason with him… a man who thought he was a monarch who'd used magic to step sideways through the particles… no, that was probably out too. Since he seemed mentally unsound maybe he could confuse him? He considered surprising him with a sudden cartwheel towards the back door, but he hadn't cartwheeled since he was around ten years old, and, he imagined, that was the sort of thing one needed to keep in practice for. Perhaps a tuck and roll towards the pool, and then he could double back on his hands and knees? As he deliberated over whether pushing him into the pool was a good idea or an awful one (what if he couldn't swim? That cloak looked heavy and… wait, were those _chicken_ feathers?) His planning was interrupted by a sudden stinging slap across the face.

"Jesus!" he yelped.

"Still no, not getting any warmer either," replied his attacker. To his credit he did manage to look a little bit guilty as he glanced down forlornly at the offending glove, now lying at James's feet.

"What the hell was that, now you're assaulting me?" James accused.

"Well, that _is _the game plan. This is a challenge," he replied.

James kicked pointedly at the glove, "no," he disagreed, "no matter how you look at it, it's a glove."

"Yes, that too," hissed the intruder impatiently, "that's how these things are done, I was throwing it on the floor, in challenge."

James gritted his teeth, rubbing his sore cheek "you missed," he complained.

"Well obviously, I had trouble finding _my_ mark because _you_ were inebriated," scoffed his challenger.

James ran a hand through his hair and began to wonder if maybe he was dreaming; this was definitely that weird sort of dream logic. "So what exactly does _your_ aim have to do with_ my_ sobriety Mr… wait… this is ridiculous, I can't just keep coming up with creative adjectives for you, and I'm not making you a sovereign; I'm going to call you Ryan from now on." Ryan sneered angrily at his unexpected christening. "As I was saying, my drinking has nothing to do with this; you slapped me for no good reason."

"Threw down my glove," corrected Ryan.

James gave him a knowing look. "You probably just dropped it didn't you? Now you're just trying to hide it because you feel silly about dropping it when you slapped me." He bent down and picked up the glove, offering it to its owner, "Here, just take it back and go, would you?"

Ryan's eyes flashed and he laughed triumphantly, "Aha, you have accepted it!" he crowed.

James looked doubtfully at the glove, "no thanks," he said, "I've got my own gloves, in pairs even, and this one's a bit sticky," _not to mention that it's covered in glitter…_

Not listening, the man, who probably wasn't really called Ryan, began to look very smug with himself. "You have accepted my challenge," he told him, "we will fight to win the favour of my queen."

James still held the 'Glove of Challenge' in his hand, partially because he was excited that it now had such a grand title, but mostly because he wasn't sure what to do with it. A few things clicked together in his head, the left over bits regarded them jealously.

_Queen…_

Suddenly the gaudy clothes, the glitter and… well… the prettiness, just all seemed to make sense. He regarded the man who, doubtless, had a name much more pretentious than Ryan, with a new found understanding. "Oh, I see," he said, "You're that."

Ryanettia scowled at him furiously, irritated that his name was getting even more ridiculous.

"That, what?" he asked.

James sniffed. "You know," he encouraged, waving his hand about and then flicking it downwards in a suggestive manner, "that."

Ryanettia regarded him scornfully, "if that," he mimicked the hand gesture, "refers to what you people think of as, 'the royal wave', then yes, quite so."

_The royal wave…_ James had never heard _that_ terminology before, but then he was hardly an expert on gay terminology. "Sorry, that must have sounded rude, I wasn't discriminating, "he explained.

"How could _you _possibly discriminate against _me_?" Ryanettia asked, "Of the two of us, you are the lower social class. As the superior, I have even deigned to offer you this challenge, which is specifically catered to gentlemen, I might add, I'd say I am the one being indiscriminate."

_Lower social class, what the hell did he mean by that? _James frowned. "I'm trying to explain that I think you've made a mistake."

"How so?" Ryanettia asked.

"Well I'm not like you," explained James.

"Obviously" he drawled, "I just pointed that out. King", he proclaimed, pointing to himself, "Peasant," he pointed a lazy finger at James.

"Yeah, those titles would be discrimination, don't you think? I've had a lot of gay friends in the past and I've never heard them creating a hierarchy out of their preferences."

Ryanettia shrugged, "The class system is what it is, and I don't see what that has to do with how joyful your friends are."

"What I'm trying to say," ground out James, "Is that we are different, and it seems that there has been a misunderstanding. Due to these differences, I have no interest in any 'queens'.

"Well, Sarah isn't a queen yet," admitted Ryanettia, "tricky of you to sweep in while she is not yet affianced to me."

James suddenly felt very confused, or maybe not suddenly at all, really. He looked around for something to do, picked up his glass again and put it in a safe place, (not the same one as the quality whiskey was though, he still hadn't found that,) he might be tempted to throw it later if he didn't do so now. Turning back to the colourful man before him, he found his irritation hadn't really subsided while he had been stalling. "I'm sorry, who is Sarah?" he finally asked, almost dreading the answer.

"The future Goblin Queen," Ryanettia leered.

"But Sarah is a girl's name," said James.

"Yes," he agreed, "girls often have girl names."

"But…" James wondered if he'd blacked out and missed a rather vital portion of the conversation, "you're gay," he finished lamely.

"Do I seem unexpectedly jovial to you?" asked Ryanettia, "I assure you I'm quite put out over this whole affair, Sarah Williams is not someone I'm willing to share."

"No, no, no… I mean, you like men, you prefer men over women," offered James.

"Wherever would you get a ridiculous idea like that?" asked Ryan, reverting to his more masculine label to negate of all that had come before it.

"From you, because you… the way you're dressed, and you said queen," stammered James.

"Well yes, a Goblin Queen for a Goblin King," asserted the Goblin King, finally regaining his title, if not his name, "and what's wrong with the way I dress?"

James tried to take deep calming breaths. He looked around for the glass he'd hidden earlier to throw it, but the safe place turned out to be too exceptional a hiding spot. He began to think that the pool was a very good idea indeed, regardless of how well one could swim, he considered throwing himself into it if necessary.

"So… you seem to think you're a king, and you have a queen who seems to be knocking around somewhere, who you've challenged me for, but why exactly? I don't think I even know this Sarah"

"You expect me to believe you don't know Sarah, but you've already serenaded her about the love you hold for her. And my attire is excellent by the way."

James ignored him, "what are you talking about? I haven't serenaded anyone, who even uses that word?"

"So you deny singing to her that she was beautiful, an angel, you even admitted through song that she was with another man, me no doubt, but plowed on regardless," accused the Goblin King.

James blinked, those were definitely his words, but was this man insane? "'You're Beautiful'," he said.

"Yes, yes I know, but I don't see what that has to do with anything," growled the Goblin King.

"No, Goblin King," _Oh my God, I can't believe I went and said it,_ _I must be insane_, "It's the name of the song; 'You're Beautiful.'"

"Oh, that's an excellent name. So now that you've accepted the challenge do you want blades or pistols?"

"Thanks, it did quite well to be honest… No, wait, I'm not accepting anything, and I'm not selecting a weapon. WE. ARE. NOT. DUELLING," shouted James.

"You've already accepted, I'll just start without you if you don't hurry up," said the Goblin King.

"I don't even have blades or a pistol," complained James.

"I don't see how that's my problem, both parties are supposed to supply their own weapons, although this will make winning remarkably easy, I won't even need to cheat," grinned the Goblin King.

"You were planning on cheating?" shouted James.

"Well, only if I was losing, or if you were making me look bad," admitted the Goblin King.

"You're planning on fighting me, and cheating in the process, for the favour of someone I've never met, or personally sung to," complained James.

"It sounded rather personal when I was listening to it," hissed the Goblin King.

"And did you think I was serenading you too then?" demanded James sarcastically.

"What?"

"We'll you listened to the song too, you and millions of others, was I serenading them all?" he yelled.

A look of understanding crossed the Goblin King's face. "You mean others heard that song too?" he asked. James nodded affirmative. "That's outrageous, you… you were seriously trying to seduce _that many_ women?"

"No!" shouted James, "I'm just a singer."

"A singer," said the Goblin King suspiciously, "so what, so am I, I sing to Sarah all the time, I don't feel the need to play 'Pied Piper' to the masses."

"No, I sing professionally, it's my job, you know, career path," James explained.

The Goblin King looked dubious. "You mean, it's something like a public performance, you're what, a bard?"

"Yes!" agreed James helplessly.

"So that's what it's all about then, all that flouncing and swaggering," sneered the Goblin King.

"Really?" drawled James, "you're one to talk. Haven't you ever heard the expression 'people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones?'"

"No, I haven't. But I'm very familiar with the phrase 'people I put in oubliettes, _can't_ throw stones'."

James frowned. "What the hell is an oubliette?"

"A place of forgetting, much like where you put that glass earlier, and that excellent bottle of whiskey," the Goblin King told him.

_Okay, this is just getting silly now…_ thought James.

"So what you're saying is: not only are you not a challenger for my ladies favour, but there is no need for me to duel you, or to reorder time and cheat until I win?" asked the Goblin King.

"Exactly," agreed James, wondering why he hadn't made good on his threat to call the police yet.

"So I can rescind my challenge, and you promise that you are in no way seeking to woo my future queen?"

"Yes," said James.

"Excellent," smiled the Goblin King, "that's just excellent."

Cracking his knuckles, he then promptly banished James to one of his more foreboding oubliettes in the Labyrinth.

"That's for insulting my manner of dress," he called after him.

A myriad of thoughts whirled through James's head as he landed on the cold, hard floor of the dungeon. Oddly, the only one that really seemed stick was: _there are indeed no stones in this oubliette for throwing_. It could be worse though, he could be dead, and how many people got to see real magic, and meet a Goblin King in this day and age? Besides, by lucky coincidence this oubliette just happened to be the one where his good whiskey and the glass had ended up. He poured himself a drink, and wondered, just who in the hell _is_ Sarah Williams?

Sarah Williams sat down groggily in front of her breakfast to wait for her morning coffee. She had surprised Sprog by waking up earlier than usual; she'd met him as she'd stumbled, half asleep, down the hallway, swinging a power cord over his head like a cowboy in a rodeo, it was not nearly as pleasant as meeting him in the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee waiting, somehow, coffee made power cord wielding goblins liveable. As Jumble fell through the dog door with the morning paper, he laid it out besides Sarah's breakfast and stroked it protectively, avoiding the corner he'd so obviously already chewed before bringing it in. Still half asleep, Sarah smoothed the paper out on the table and stared down at it blearily. A wild eyed, madman stared back at her, accompanied by the words 'James Blunt,' in an outrageously over sized type face. Sarah blinked, even sleep addled, she could now see that the man in the picture was in fact James Blunt, he looked like he'd fallen out of a tree.

"What does it say Lady Sarah?" asked Sprog, finally placing a steaming cup of aromatic coffee down on the table, clumsily, Sarah watched as the column side story turned a murky brown colour as it soaked up the spilled beverage. Sarah cleared her throat and moved her cup away from Sprog's continued efforts to clean up the mess he'd just made... just as clumsily.

"James Blunt is currently being held by authorities for drunk and disorderly behaviour, he is also suspected of being in possession of hallucinogenic drugs," Sarah stopped, raising her eyebrows. Taking a sip of her coffee, she read the article once through before continuing. "He was found last night, holding half a glass of whiskey and yelling at people in a local park, close to his Ibiza mansion. Residents claimed that he was 'clearly not himself', and when approached would start cackling madly and throwing stones in their direction. One local woman was quoted as having said the following: "I didn't know it was Jame's Blunt at the time, he was so wild it was impossible to tell. When I asked him if he needed any help he warned me that there were dangerous chickens in the area, and kept babbling about glitter." Once the authorities arrived on the scene, and James was taken into custody, a psychiatrist was called in to assess his mental state. After he had calmed down, he confessed to onlookers that he'd been kidnapped and kept prisoner for weeks against his will. After local officials confirmed that James had not been missing, and had, in fact, been seen earlier that day by his cleaning woman, Adela, Mr Blunt went on to tell his growing audience that he had traveled through time to return to the same day of his kidnapping. Finding no suspicious substances on Mr Blunt at the time, the police felt it best to have him committed for further psychiatric evaluation and charged him with drunken behaviour, citing the whiskey glass as a possible cause for his outburst. They have stated that they intend to fully investigate his Ibiza residence, and have already appealed to the local judge for access to his home, seeking dangerous, possibly hallucinogenic, substances. Mr Blunt's producers have denied all claims of possible drug use, but have yet to provide a statement to explain the famous stars odd behavior."

Sarah sat back in her chair and let the papers drop from her hand.

"Well, what do you know, you really can never tell with people, he seemed like such a clean cut guy." Jumble and Sprog nodded sadly, Sprog sobbing loudly into the large dirty tea towel he had used to try and mop up coffee.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sarah felt like she might be forgetting something important. Taking another sip of her coffee, she sat back comfortably in her chair, it was probably just her imagination.

* * *

Alright **Horsemistress**, this is for you - although you were a guest log in so you may never see it. I did originally intend to include Sarah's afterword here, but decided to cut it, but since you asked so nicely here you are.


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